


Roll Away Your Stone, I'll Roll Away Mine

by thalialunacy



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-24
Updated: 2010-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one with McCoy being braver five times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roll Away Your Stone, I'll Roll Away Mine

**Author's Note:**

> **Dedication** : For star98hope, my ever-patient, ever-understanding, not to mention just plain awesome help_haiti winner. Thank you so, _so_ much, bb.  
>  **Teaser** : _McCoy hesitates for a split second, then squares his shoulders and steps into Kirk's personal space. He reaches for the captain's regulation trousers, and Kirk lets out a slightly startled grunt. "Just close your eyes and think of England."_  
>  **Warnings** : Made-up science. Fandom cliches like you wouldn't believe.  
>  **Disclaimer** : JJ's & Paramount's, not mine; I make no money, let alone profit, so please, please don't sue me. Also, don't be hatin, we just like the fuckin.'

  
**1**   


“You can't be brave if you've only had wonderful things happen to you.” Mary Tyler Moore

\---

Dig deep, his mom always said to him. Dig deep but the trouble was, Jim Kirk had never _had_ to dig deep. He'd just gotten it done, and that was that. The 'it' was often questionable, but regardless, whatever he wanted at the moment, he did it. He gave what it took and with the big stuff, the fuck-the-world stuff then the growing-up stuff, he'd always thought it would hurt, always thought it would cut deep. But it ended up just skimming a little off the top. Sometimes a lot, especially after he got the boat— but always off the top.

\---

Jim hears McCoy's low whistle. Well, of course he does, the guy's right next to him. So he turns around and follows McCoy's gaze across the bar.

He immediately knows which one has caught his buddy's attention: She's a hell of a looker, but more important than that is the fact that she's just knocked back a glass of something-on-the-rocks without a flinch. And not in the giggly-co-ed-on-spring-break sort of way.

Basically, in a get-Dr-McCoy-into-your-bed sort of way. From the look on McCoy's face, he doesn't know her so it probably isn't intentional; she's not a student of his or anything. But, also from that look, it's working.

He leans into McCoy's side. "Betcha two top shelves I can get a number before you can."

McCoy looks at him like he's crazy. It's becoming a familiar look. "Bullshit. She's not your type."

"I like challenges."

"I think I'd win this one."

"How so?"

"I'm higher-ranked."

"That's just because you have two degrees."

"Another plus."

"Yeah, but with the downside of your age."

"Fuck you, you're only like four god damn years younger than me. And besides, I'll have you know: age is an _up_ side."

Jim's all teeth. "Not when I'm more experienced."

"Says who?"

"Numbers don't lie."

McCoy snorts. "Number of faked orgasms, you mean."

"Oh, fuck off!" Jim says wryly. "I think I can tell the difference."

"That's what they all say." He pats Jim on the head and slides off his stool. "Watch and learn."

Two drinks later, McCoy tips his imaginary hat to Jim as he holds the door open for this Challenging Woman.

When Jim sits down at their usual table for breakfast the next morning, he's rapid-fire questions. McCoy is reticent about most of them, as usual, but Jim persists. He really only cares about the last one, anyway. "So what was the sinker?"

McCoy raises an eyebrow. "As in, hook, line, and?"

Jim waves dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. What was it? Maybe I can use it."

McCoy chews on his food for a minute. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Sure I would."

McCoy chews some more. "She's a first year med student."

Jim opens his mouth to sneer.

"— _not_ eighteen, you pervert."

"Sure. So?"

"So after a couple more drinks, I asked her how many bones are in the human body. She said 'two hundred and five.'"

"What the fuck? And?"

McCoy's grin is wider than Jim's seen on him yet. "And I said 'Yeah, and would you like me to show you how to get one more in there?'"

Jim's head throws back with the crowing laugh. "You did _not!_ "

"I most certainly did."

"Bones."

"Yeah."

"You pulled a woman by making a joke about _bones_."

"Yeah."

"Well, that seals it."

"Seals what?"

Jim gathers his tray to him and stands up. Grinning. "Nothing."

McCoy looks at him for a second, then grunts. "Fine. See you tonight."

"Yup. See you tonight… Dr Bones."

 

  
**2**   


“The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding, go out to meet it.”

Thucydides (Greek historian and author, 460-404bc)

\---

Let it go, his mother had always said to him. Lenny, you have got to let things roll off your back. She'd even point out the ducks in the right seasons, and how the water, it didn't touch them, just slid serenely down their backs to find the next point in the cycle. McCoy tried to be like that. McCoy _wanted_ to be like that. Trouble is, whether it be low grades or a stray hangnail, life stuck to Leonard McCoy. And McCoy didn't like it one bit.

\---

He sees Jim's Hooded Glances. Of course he does, he's right across the table from him and the kid's been buzzing with pheromones for the last twenty minutes. McCoy's seen the cues enough times over the past couple years, he can tell without a second glance that Jim is panting over someone in the room. Why Jim's not taking advantage of it, now, that's the real mystery.

And McCoy is incredibly sick of his current microbe study, anyway. So he leans back, PADD propped against the table, and scans the stacks and tables around them, feeling invasive even though everyone else is busy studying, heads down and necks cramped and brows furrowed.

….all except one. There's a dark-haired, caramel-skinned young man, pretending to read something and failing.

McCoy's lips curve as he leans in to Jim. "Why don't you just go say something?"

Jim doesn't look up, but his neck—there's a flush there, McCoy notes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit."

One eyebrow of Kirk's quirks, but he doesn't look up. "Or plausible deniability."

"Six a one, half dozen a the other. You are jonesin' for that kid, don't even try to tell me otherwise."

Jim hunches over carefully in his chair, shaking his head. "No time for love, Dr. Bones."

McCoy smiles slightly, then tips his chin up and regards Jim for a minute. "You're kidding me," he says finally, bemused.

"Come on, man, I'm not always out to get in somebody's pants."

McCoy waves his hand dismissively. "You don't think I know that?"

Jim finally looks at him, suspicious.

"No," McCoy continues, "what I can't believe is that you've never been with a man."

Kirk huffs in surprise, glancing over to make sure the object of his affections hadn't heard. Then he shrugs at McCoy. "Never really wanted to."

McCoy notes the ambiguity, but leaves it alone. "He _is_ a fine looking specimen."

"Have you?" Kirk counters, not mincing words but McCoy's pretty much used to that by now.

"Been with a man? No."

"Well then quit harping on me about it."

"Harping? Really?" McCoy puts the PADD down. "Defensive, much?

Kirk is overly focused on his work again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

McCoy pops his jaw as he glances across the room once more—to find the young man in question looking back. And not necessarily at Jim.

"Huh."

He doesn’t realize he's said it out loud until he hears Jim's answering 'What?', at which point he knows Jim is following his line of sight.

He doesn't expect the chuckle that comes out of Jim's throat. "Dr. Love, paging Dr. Love."

McCoy knows his own neck is probably flushing. "Hush up."

"Oh, what, turnabout's totally fair play. It's not like you have the balls—or time—to randomly approach some guy in the library, either."

McCoy doesn't answer.

He's already halfway across the room.

He slides back into his chair five minutes later and hands Jim a smirk that could kill. "Don't bother coming over tonight. I'll be busy." Jim's mouth is open. "Now let's get back to work."

 

  
**3**   


“Firemen are going to get killed. When they join the department they face that fact. When a man becomes a fireman his greatest act of bravery has been accomplished. What he does after that is all in the line of work. They were not thinking of getting killed when they went where death lurked. They went there to put the fire out, and got killed. Firefighters do not regard themselves as heroes because they do what the business requires.”

Chief Edward F. Croker (Irish-born American Firefighter (Chief of Department, FDNY 1899-1911), 1865-1951)

\---

A real friend, his mom had said once, was the person you did the hardest stuff for. Winona was purposefully ambiguous when he asked further—pestered, really—because she was a scientist and stuck to her decision to bring her kids up with a realistic outlook on life.

It wasn't until the first time he had to stand against a friend, instead of for them, that he finally understood.

The fist to the face had sped the understanding along quite nicely.

\---

Green blood is fucking _everywhere_ and all Jim can think is _this isn't how it's supposed to go_. Courage, head, heart—that's the three of them, and here the centerpiece lies before him, bleeding out on the narrow biobed.

Kirk feels like he took a wrong turn and ended up in bizarro world, and before he can help it a chuckle escapes him.

McCoy's gaze and voice are sharp as nails as his team works the triage. His mouth is set in a grim line, his hands clenched. "I need you to tell me what happened, Jim."

And Jim digs, but not deep, so he can. "Ambush. We both fucking knew it, too, but we were too busy arguing about... whatever." He shakes his head. "Standard weaponry, blades, some sort of force field protection rendered our phasers useless. And they were quick fuckers, anyways."

McCoy is immediately reaching to examine him. Kirk jerks his chin, turns away slightly. "He put himself in front of me. He took it all."

McCoy's hands still. For a moment. Then he's running a scan of Jim anyways, twisting him and posing him and Jim lets him—until a shrill noise comes from Spock's monitors—

To Kirk it's like the warmth is broken. Cold washes over him, licks at him, and he has to move or else he's terrified he'll freeze that way. He's at the side of Spock's bed in an instant, heedless of the technicians, and the breath in his lungs doesn't freeze because it comes out as orders, his mind quickly reaching back a couple years to his A&P studies at the Academy to get the staff to do _something_ , anything, because they're moving too fucking slow—

"Jim!" McCoy is right beside him. A tech looks up at them mid-action, clearly unsure. "Belay that order!" McCoy barks out, and the tech does.

"Bones, Vulcan physiology—"

"Is not your field of expertise, I don't care how much of a damn genius you are. You're the captain, I'm the doctor, so let me do my God damn job."

Kirk just shakes his head, pushing past McCoy to the head of the bed. "Chapel, I need you to—"

McCoy stays where he is, but his voice carries. "Nurse Chapel, follow procedure."

Kirk turns on him. His face is white but his eyes are on _fire_. "Stand down, Doctor."

"No. And if you can't accept that, you need to get the hell out of my Bay, Captain."

"No!"

McCoy grabs him then, by the upper arm like he's a recalcitrant child. "Damn it, Jim, you're emotionally compromised!"

Kirk shoves away. "So are you!"

"Yeah," McCoy snarls, their faces inches apart, his breath hot on Kirk's skin, "but _I_ can fucking _handle_ it!"

Jim's face freezes.

Then, piece by piece, it turns to stone.

He leaves. He sets his desk computer to scan the readings of Spock's biobed and relay them to his comm on the hour and at certain peaks or lows. He sits on the bridge and does his job, not allowing the gaping hole behind him and the tremor in Uhura's normally pristinely steady hands to scrape below the surface.

He manages.

Three shifts later, Spock is stable and McCoy comes striding into Jim's ready room like he owns the fucking place.

Jim looks up at him, feeling his jaw clench. "Yes?"

McCoy doesn't beat around the bush. "I was just doing my job, Jim. And in that case, my job was to make sure you went back to doing yours." His arms come uncrossed with a shrug, then fall at his side. When he speaks again, his voice is low, rough. "This thing—" He gestures around them, and Kirk knows what he means. "This thing is bigger than you and him."

Kirk's brows pinch together in confusion. "Me and—"

But McCoy continues. "It's bigger than any of us."

"Bones, I—"

But McCoy puts up a hand. "And whatever else I may think about the situation—which, as you of all people know, is not my ideal—I make it a point to never forget that. I suggest you do the same." He inclines his head respectfully. "That's all. Goodnight, Jim."

And with the soft swish of the door, Kirk is left alone again.

 

  
**4**   


“Love and cowardice are really the same thing.” -- unknown

\---

Leonard McCoy has never believed in faking emotions. When he was a kid, his father tried to instill in him tact, manners, and gentlemanly behavior, some of which he retained by choice, but that's the thing—it has to be by choice. Leonard doesn't believe in giving people things they don't deserve.

And then there are some who deserve more than he can ever hope to give them. So he doesn't even try.

\---

"What do you mean, you can't beam us up, Mr Scott?"

"I've tried everything I've got, Captain, but that planet does not seem to want to give you two up."

"Fine. Stand by. Kirk out." Jim cuts the link, then looks to the Ambassador and her group of counsel. She looks mildly puzzled, and indicates that she needs a moment with her advisors. He nods his agreement and turns to McCoy.

Who is muttering under his breath. "God damn hippies."

Jim looks at him, surprised. "Seriously?"

McCoy grimaces, knowing it's not a word a person usually hears outside of history books. "Well, that's the word my great-grandfather would’ve used."

"Ah. Yet another longstanding McCoy tradition. Along with grumpiness, genius, and a penchant for alcohol abuse."

"You know what, I've had just about enough outta you. Captain."

"Jim, Leonard," the Ambassador interrupts in her singsongy voice, "I think I know what the problem is."

"About damn time," McCoy mutters, but Jim ignores him.

"It's the planet," she says simply.

They both look at her.

"The planet will not let you leave it until you have properly coupled."

"Coupled."

"Yes."

"The planet will not let us go until we have properly—"

"Coupled, yes."

"I see."

Kirk doesn't sound nearly as gleeful as McCoy figured he would. Gotta love being the least appealing person on the planet, McCoy thinks grimly.

There's no reasonable doubt as to what this sentence entails, but McCoy still holds some hope in his heart—Until they're led straight to something with startling resemblance to a Honeymoon Suite back on terra firma—though designed by tree-hugging hippies, of course, all smooth lines and neutral colors.

Once their hosts are gone, Jim sits on the bed, back far enough to swing his feet. He looks mildly bored, and he keeps fidgeting. "You think if we wait in here for a while, it'll just—"

"No." McCoy lets out a long breath and reaches for his shirt. "Let's just do this. We can't lollygag around on this planet. I have patients, and you have a ship."

He's shirtless and exposed and holding Kirk's gaze. Kirk seems surprised. Then he shrugs and stands, doffing his own shirt.

They both look at the bed. McCoy finally shakes his head. "Just—" He hesitates for a split second, then squares his shoulders and steps into Kirk's personal space. He reaches for the captain's regulation trousers, and Kirk lets out a slightly startled grunt. "Just close your eyes and think of England."

The tilt of Jim's lips is enough encouragement for him.

Kirk's cock is warm and—well, there's a surprise—not entirely soft, and McCoy easily coaxes it out of his pants and into the homey, comfortable air of the room. He squeezes once, experimentally, runs his fingers up and down and around the head just to see. He feels it get hotter under his care, can see it thickening, and his pulse starts to speed up, certainly just to spite him. Then he tightens his hand and strokes once, twice…

Kirk's warm breath hits his face, and he tears his gaze upwards. Kirk's eyes are shut, his head tilted back just enough—but his face is impassive. McCoy, feeling downright foolish but unwilling to stop, opens his mouth. "Is this—okay?"

"Okay?" Kirk's eyes open and lock on his. "Bones, you have surgeon's hands. How could this ever not be okay?"

McCoy chuckles. "Well, help a guy out, here. It's…" He clears his throat when he feels a drop of wetness on the tip. "It's been a while since I've done this." Kirk looks like he's about to smirk. "With a man," he adds grumpily.

"Well, your lack of practice is certainly not hampering anything here." Kirk's actually got a hand on one of McCoy's hips, first resting now clutching and as his body starts to push into McCoy's palm, he reaches for McCoy's pants. "Do you—should I—" Then he hesitates, almost grimacing.

McCoy moves a smidge closer, taking pity on him. "Well, now, the Ambassador wasn't exactly specific…"

Kirk's teeth flash in a relieved sort of smile. "So we'd better cover all our bases, is that what you're saying?"

"Something like that, yes."

"I can get on board with that." And his long fingers find McCoy's cock and McCoy gasps and can't help it, his head falls onto Jim's shoulder, and suddenly they've stepped into a sort of dance, hands working in tandem, mouths open, warm breath skimming along warmer skin.

McCoy's brain starts to go into overload from the sensory input and he's not sure how much longer he can stand it without—

"Bones," Jim interrupts his desperate thoughts hoarsely, and McCoy realizes he's not the only one having trouble staying upright. "Can we move this to the bed?"

McCoy grunts and detaches, and they go, shedding the remaining clothes on the way. But they don't pile onto the bed; they're both overly careful about what touches and when and for how long— And it quickly drives McCoy nuts. Sure, he knows this is not the ideal situation, but Christ, they could at least make the most out of it.

Since they're here, there's no crime in enjoying it.

Decision made, he pushes Jim down onto the bed with a hand to his sternum, and pushes his legs apart to settle their bodies together. Jim's eyes narrow with a grunt. "Bones, I know this isn't—"

"Shut up, kid," McCoy says. For oh-so many reasons, he doesn't want to hear it.

Jim opens his mouth to protest but it dies on his lips when McCoy moves down his body with clear intent. And when McCoy licks a stripe up the side of Kirk's cock, Kirk's hips buck in surprise. "Christ—" And then McCoy takes him down, reaching back a couple years to the second year of this mission and the last time he'd done this.

He's still mighty fine at it, if he does say so himself. Kirk's vocabulary certainly thinks so, appreciative and explicit as it's becoming.

Fists clenching into the sheets at his sides, Kirk is breathing hard. "Jesus, Bones. When you do something, you _do_ it." McCoy hums but doesn't stop, and the hips underneath his hands soon start to twitch in earnest. "Fuck," Kirk manages, "no, Bones, wait—"

And he's pulling at McCoy's shoulders, grip tight and insistent, pulling him up until their cocks are aligned. The friction makes them both shudder.

"I want—" Kirk moves against him restlessly, and McCoy meets his eyes.

"What, Jim? What do you want?"

Kirk grins up at him, maintaining his normal carefree attitude, but McCoy can see the flush staining his cheeks. McCoy regards him for a minute, a long minute, thinking there's no way in hell Jim Kirk has lived this long and not been with a man— until Kirk looks like he might start to twitch again, or open his mouth and say something stupid to ruin the moment.

 _Oh, to hell with it._

"Well," he says slowly, lowly, "they did say coupling." He shifts down a little, and very deliberately puts a hand behind Kirk's right thigh in order to push it up and out, spreading Kirk open for him. "So we should do our level best."

There's a split second where Kirk hesitates, and McCoy holds his breath, his heart yammering in his chest. Then, with a strangled curse, Kirk is _all over_ him, legs wrapped around torso and hands buried in hair and teeth dragging against shoulder tendons.

McCoy has a finger in him before he can fully contemplate his actions, and Jim's groan sets his spine on fire. He refuses to go to two without some sort of lubrication, though, and he raises his head to say so to Jim—and notices a shallow pot sitting innocently on the bedside table.

"Jim," he says quietly, "was that here a minute ago?"

Kirk turns his head to look. "No."

"That's what I thought. What do you think it is?"

Kirk contemplates for a moment, then reaches one arm over. McCoy instinctively moves to slap it away, but Jim is too quick, just grabs McCoy's fingers and gives them a squeeze. "Hey, the inhabitants of this house are vegetarians whose planet wouldn't let us go without having sex. I highly doubt it's anything malevolent."

McCoy grumbles a little, then shrugs. "Okay, fair point." He reaches for the pot and brings it over so they can both look at it. There's a glistening viscous substance in it. McCoy sniffs at it once, still mildly suspicious.

Then he feels Jim's heel dig into the back of his upper thigh. "Bones," he says sharply, "if you don't take that hint and 'couple with me' within the next twenty seconds, so help me God I am going to throw you into the brig when we get back." McCoy's cock leaps at this, and Jim must be able to feel it because the smartass grin resurfaces. "That's what I thought."

McCoy'd be an idiot to look a gifthorse in the mouth, he knows, and soon all thoughts fly from his head except 'holy fucking shit I have two fingers inside of Jim Kirk.' Then three, then Kirk grips the globes of his ass and _demands_ , in an attempt at his Most Captainly voice, that McCoy get a move on.

The order's a little grunted, a little strained, but McCoy obeys just the same.

Once he's fully seated, balls to bum, they both heave out a breath and the air grows still, charged. Jim stares up at him, then whispers two words that shatter McCoy's black little heart.

"Kiss me."

He can't swallow past the burning in his throat. "Jim…" He shakes his head. "Don't ask that of me."

Jim's brows draw together as he searches McCoy's face. "Don't ask that of you."

But McCoy can't reply, won't, has to keep some hold on the razor thin edge of his sanity. So he replies with actions instead, simultaneously lowering his head and tipping Kirk up to thrust into him pointedly. Jim curses and McCoy feels his head tilt back into the pillow.

Kirk's fingers are gripping onto him hard enough to leave bruises so he takes the risk, lets his tongue reach out to the skin of Jim's neck and shoulder as he thrusts in and out. He tastes sweat and skin and fear and lust and he's not sure where he stops and Jim begins but he struggles to remember— His gut is telling him to let go but his brain, always his God damn brain, knows that it will only end badly…

After a while, his body takes the decision out of his hands, the impending orgasm taking over everything—except his heart peeks through and reminds him to make sure Jim is having a good time as well.

But he needn't worry. When he lifts his head off Jim's shoulder, he sees nothing but pleasure on Kirk's face. Their eyes meet, and Jim speaks easily, breathlessly. "Touch me, then, Bones. Please."

 _That_ , he can most certainly do.

He shifts his weight to one elbow and reaches down until he's got a grip on Jim's cock. Thrusts and strokes together send Kirk's hips arching into him with more force, change the grunts coming from Jim's mouth into groans, and sends them both spiraling, spiraling towards the end.

…and when it comes, it comes with a flash of light and a roll of the ground and McCoy will never know if either were real… or just figments of his love-addled brain…

After, they don't speak. McCoy can't and Jim… doesn't. After they've caught their breath and decoupled and recalibrated, which included taking advantage of the towels and water jar and bowl that appeared on the nightstand, Jim finds his comm and contacts the boat.

"Mr. Scott, I believe you'll be able to beam us aboard now."

And after that, while they sit there awkwardly waiting, he looks over at McCoy, his lips quirked in his Jim Smile. "Who were you thinking of? Bette Davis? Scarlett O'Hara?"

McCoy looks at him. He's tired, he realizes. Really fucking tired. "You, Jim. I was thinking of you."

And then the world dissolves around them.

 

  
**5**   


“There is no such thing as bravery; only degrees of fear.” — John Wainwright

\---

When he was a kid, Jim Kirk hung upside down for most of his days. There were playgrounds and barn beams and hoverboards and railings and the higher up the better, of course, but that wasn't really the thing, the height-fear and headrush were mere bonuses—What he was really there for, what really got him off about it, was the sudden onslaught of new perspective.

The world going topsy-turvy in an instant, everything you know becoming nothing familiar— _That's_ a fucking rush.

\---

As soon as he feels solid ship beneath him again, Jim is speaking. "Wait, what?"

McCoy starts forward but Kirk puts a staying hand on his arm. McCoy meets his eyes for a moment; his jaw twitches, but he doesn't say anything. Then the doctor pulls away and walks out of the room.

Well, fuck that.

Kirk strides after him. Once he gets so they're abreast, McCoy just glances at him and nods shortly. "We both need to go to sickbay to get checked out, anyway."

"No, Bones, we need to go somewhere so you can tell me what the hell—"

" _No_ , Jim," McCoy says without stopping. "Sickbay. Whatever you want to do with yourself after that, fine, but our first commitment is to this tin can and I'll be damned if I'm going to let that fall apart over something as insignificant as sex."

Jim feels like he's been punched in the gut. And that's a feeling he's rather familiar with—just not on these terms. "I don't understand." He doesn't, and that fucking annoys him.

"It's not complex. You have a ship to run and I—"

"Have a medical department to run, yes, I know that and that's not what I'm talking about—" He gets his hand firmly on McCoy's bicep and doesn't let go this time, determined to take advantage of the empty corridor. "—which you would know if you'd just fucking give me a minute."

McCoy slows, but doesn't stop and doesn't meet his eyes. His body is spooled with tension and Kirk wants to hit him. So he does the next best thing: "How long have you been in love with me?"

At that, finally, McCoy comes to a dead halt. He meets Kirk's eyes and Kirk almost flinches at the severity of emotion there.

But before he can contemplate it fully, McCoy is on him, pushing Jim into the wall with a hand to his chest. "Listen, kid, I don't care how God damn smart you are, there is one thing you'll never understand about me. I do what is necessary, you hear? I do what is necessary for those around me and if that means I don't get happy endings with bunnies and rainbows, that's fine with me. So yeah, maybe you tug my damn heartstrings a little but Jim, I am not about to stand in the way of your destiny." He lets go of Jim's shirt, and the air between them gets bigger. "Hell, I'm lucky enough just being along for the ride."

He moves away fully, but his eyes are still snapping fire. "And that's life. In all its precious, precocious, fucked-up glory. And if you want to talk about it, fine, we can go mano-a-mano later but right now, your ass needs to get to sickbay, and that's a fucking _order_."

And he walks away. Jim stays, his hand splayed against the smooth, cold, comforting metal.

For the first time in a long time, Jim Kirk is hanging upside-down.

 

 **(1)**

 

Dig deep, his mom always told him.

He stands there for a while, thinking of his mom, thinking of his life, thinking of his ship. He sits on a bed in sickbay getting examined and cleared for duty, thinking of brains, and of guts, and of heart.

And then, an hour later, he's done thinking.

He doesn't have to use his override; McCoy lets him in. And protests immediately. Both are signs that things are salvageable, and Kirk lets himself take small comfort in them.

"Go away, Jim. Can't you see I'm trying to get drunk?"

"Yeah, I can see that. I don't care." In fact, he takes a second glass from off the sideboard and pours himself some, too, knocking it back like he's about to undergo something very unpleasant. He then puts it down, and comes to a stop in front of McCoy, looking down at him. This part, he thinks, he's at least familiar with. "You're a fucking coward."

But McCoy just raises an eyebrow and puts his drink down slowly. "You interrupt my drinking merely to insult me?"

"No, you can keep drinking."

"Thank you."

"You're still a coward."

Finally, McCoy realizes he's serious. "I am, am I?" He stands, still taking his time, and clearly expecting Jim to move back to accommodate but Jim doesn't. And McCoy won't back down either, so they're suddenly standing unnaturally close, their breaths mingling, and it's nowhere they haven't been before but it feels so intensely _foreign_ —

Kirk plunges in. "Yes. Using every excuse you can think of to maintain some sense of noble dignity when you couldn't just fucking man up and risk something for once."

The doctor's face goes from placid to stormy in a second. "I risk something _every damn day_ , you idiot, and the fact that I even have to say that—"

Kirk digs deep, feels it go under the first layer—and leans in.

McCoy's lips are unnaturally still against his, still and shocked—that is, until they're moving, opening, and Kirk knows that was too easy and he's right because they only open to speak. He hears the steel-edged words as he feels McCoy's hands come up to grasp his upper arms—

"The hell do you think you're doing?"

But Kirk brings his hands up to grip Bones' side, just under his ribcage, and hold him there.

"I was thinking of you, too," he starts quietly. McCoy tenses, if it's possible, even further. "At first. I was thinking of you and it was magnificent because it was the first time I'd been _allowed_ to think of you. I mean, it was magnificent anyway, but it—"

He stops himself. Breathes in. It tastes of Bones, who hasn't so much as moved an inch. He's grateful.

He starts again. "I may be a lot of things but I am not one to grossly objectify someone without their consent, so I'd never—" He clarifies. "Well. Once. I was drunk and I had—I had heard you in the shower and it wasn't my finest moment and I'm sorry. Mostly."

He swears he sees the corner of McCoy's mouth go up. And he kisses it once, quickly—he can't help it—and feels the twitch under his lips.

 _Almost._

"But then—today—you wouldn't kiss me—" He stops suddenly as he feels it hit another layer, and it _hurts_ , goddammit, and he thinks fleetingly of his mom. "And I knew right then that you didn't want to be there with me." McCoy's breath huffs against his cheek but he plows on. "So I stopped thinking of you, because it felt disrespectful." His grip tightens as he remembers the rest. It makes his gut warm. "Then I couldn't think of anything at all."

He pauses. They're so close, though McCoy's fingers have loosened, that they're vaguely entwined, the air between them minute and a mile wide. He swallows against the silence. The words, they're not coming to him. The Golden Boy's legendary pith has deserted him.

He pulls back a little, and shrugs. He feels it hit the last layer. He doesn't flinch at the pain, he welcomes it. His voice is rough when he finally speaks, looking McCoy straight on. "Fuck destiny."

McCoy's brows come together and there's a flash of hurt in his eyes. "Jim, no—"

And the words are suddenly all there. "Yes, Bones. Shut up and listen." McCoy's mouth snaps into a tight line. Jim reaches up and touches it with the pad of his finger. "Spock is part of my destiny, sure. As my first officer and trusted friend. But this—" He drops his gaze to McCoy's lips, purposefully and sinfully traveling their length with his eyes. "This is part of it, too. Always has been. I just… didn't want to deal with it."

McCoy regards him. His face hasn't changed but his hands—they're holding Jim tighter. "And now?"

And now… now Kirk knows the time has come. He's down to it, down to the bare bones of why people spend their whole lives avoiding commitment. Because without those layers, you are ripped open, exposed, just waiting to be destroyed. And you can't take it back. There is no reset button.

As he feels the burn in his belly, he knows he's going to do it anyways. He meets McCoy's tired eyes, knows his own are red-lined and huge and desperate.

"Kiss me," he says quietly.

There's no response for a moment, a long enough moment that Kirk's breath burns in his lungs. McCoy is eyeing him, weighing him, his jaw unnaturally tight and his eyes narrowed.

Then, finally, it's as if plates are shifting, lava's forming, the pieces of McCoy's face changing from hard lines to soft sarcasm. And the eyebrow goes up.

Kirk feels it like a shattering, like a woosh of the ocean through his chest.

McCoy's hand reaches up and cups the back of Kirk's neck. "You sure about that, kid?"

A corner of his mouth turns up. "Sure as my—" His throat is too dry so his voice cracks. He chuckles hollowly, then swallows a couple times. "Sure as my name is Kirk. Jim Kirk." He mirrors McCoy's movement, holding on to the warm skin of Bones's scalp as tightly as he dares. He stares at Bones, _wills_ him to understand how much he's risking here, that he fucking gets it. "I'm all in."

McCoy's gaze drops to his lips then back up. There's a hint of a smile on his face, and Kirk wants to chase it. "No foolin'."

Kirk's grin is for real this time. "No foolin'." His eyes stray to and then get stuck on McCoy's mouth, which is frustratingly far away. He pulls on McCoy, but doesn't lean forward. This has to be Bones's choice, has to be McCoy reaching out and meeting him halfway—

 _Or more than_ , he thinks as he quickly re-evaluates the situation, necessary due to the fact that McCoy's mouth is claiming his so thoroughly he has to adjust his stance, like a boxer after the first real blow—

Then the bed's behind his knees and he's nothing if not someone who can roll with the punches so he pulls Bones down with him, laughing when their teeth clank and an elbow hits him in the stomach.

McCoy grimaces, pushing himself up onto his hands. "Graceful as a one-armed paper-hanger."

Kirk grins up at him. "Me or you?"

McCoy shrugs, a funny motion when horizontal. "Does it matter?"

Kirk surveys his face, his hot cheeks, his thick lips, his fucking amazing eyes. "Not really." He pulls McCoy to him for a brief kiss, then uses the momentum to roll them both over. Once he's on top, settled between McCoy's trouser-clad legs, he locks eyes with his startled CMO. "Not anymore."

He leans down, then, and kisses McCoy, really kisses him, lips and tongue open and wet and trying to convey everything at once, and he succeeds, he thinks, if McCoy's responding kisses and handsy twitches are any indication. Then McCoy's hips push up into his and although it's awkward placement the hint of pressure, the connection sparked, makes them both groan.

Kirk pulls back, breathing a little unevenly, and surveys the man below him. "So how about some of that mano-a-mano?" he asks with a grin. McCoy rolls his eyes, then ignores the question to lean up to suck at Jim's neck right below his jaw. Jim shifts to one hand to tug at McCoy's hair. "It made the earth move last time, Bones. Come on."

McCoy's head goes back. He stares at Jim, his cheeks staining slightly with pink, then chuckles. "I thought that was just in my fool head."

Jim shakes his head with a grin. "No way. Scotty's report said the breaking of the planet's shield involved a major disturbance in the Force."

McCoy stares at him for another moment, then a corner of his mouth turns up. "Well, in that case..." And he yanks Jim's mouth down to his.

Jim lets him lead for a moment, then takes it from him. His heart pounds the blood through his body as he stops McCoy's hands with his own, curls McCoy's legs up around his hips, reaches for McCoy's clothing.

A grunt leaks out of McCoy at the last. "Jim, wait, you're--" He stops, flummoxed. "You don't need to lead, here, kid."

"Shut up, Bones. Let me do this." The brash confidence doesn't need to be faked this time. Mostly. "I figure it doesn't matter much who leads, as long as the rhythm is right." And the arch of McCoy's neck at Jim's hand blustering its way into his trousers conveys that the rhythm is right, indeed. "Plus," he finishes with a grin and a bite at McCoy's lower lip, "I've always learned better by doing."

McCoy's response--after a snort--is simple and effective: He kisses the living bejesus out of Jim. Almost distracts Jim from his mission but at some point they shift, their pelvises rut against each other and his cock helpfully reminds him _there is more here to conquer_.

He pulls off, sits up, and evaluates the scene. His mind races against his body and against the clock as he strips them both, taking stock of every piece of McCoy he's seeing again for the first time.

And as he does this, as he travels this new path, he realizes it's not that new at all. It's him, it's sex, and it's Bones. Familiar pieces, put together in unfamiliar ways. It just requires some...recalibration. The angles are different, from the sweep of the jaw to the line of the hip to the arch of the foot. The logistics are different, the necessity of outside lubrication and the extra tilt to the point of entry. But his cock says thank you and his ego pronounces victory when he's _inside Bones_ in a wholly unexpected way, and a deep sound of pleasure rumbles through them both, from end to end and front to back and top to bottom.

Jim settles in, folding Bones around him and putting skin to skin wherever he can, and then lets himself experiment, lets himself vary in speeds and angles and targets so he can catalogue every response, from the pinch of McCoy's hands on his sides to the tingle in his balls to the whoosh of the breath in between their open mouths, testing, reaching--

And at a certain point--somewhere but Jim's not sure where, and that will require more testing, more experimenting (the thought of which makes him grin against McCoy's forehead later) the details smooth into a blur, slip into a stream of neither here nor there, the moment so full and pulsing Jim can think of nothing else. McCoy's soothing noises seep into his ear and McCoy's body curls into him, McCoy managing to surround him anyways just as he's surrounding Jim's cock and it hits Jim, then, full bore, mind heart body--

And the earth may not move, the ship may continue humming along its merry way, but Jim Kirk, who is in some ways both the ship and the earth, is rocked to his very core.

 _“True bravery is shown by performing without witness what one might be capable of doing before all the world” -- François de la Rochefoucauld (French classical author, 1613-1680)_

Tomorrow, Jim Kirk thinks belatedly when he comes back to the surface a few moments later, he's going to thank his mother.

 **  
_FIN_   
**

**Author's Note:**

> omg greenteaduck [arted this](http://pics.livejournal.com/thalialunacy/pic/0038hydk)! Eeeeeee! :D:D:D
> 
> Thanks especially to maypirate, jazzy_peaches, blcwriter, verhalten, camesawconquerd, and pslasher for the much-needed cheerleading & pre/beta-reading, [thinkexist.com](http://thinkexist.com/quotations/bravery/), [the Urban dictionary](http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=bones), ['Roll Away Your Stone'](http://www.box.net/shared/y73uen82ex) by Mumford & Sons, and that Roddenberry quote about the trio. A nod to an old friend in the HP fandom, who would, I'm sure, prefer to not be named. A Kevin Smith/Indiana Jones reference. A line from abigail89, who also was kind enough to beta. A line from _Steel Magnolias_. A nod to an ancient X-Files fanfic. A quote from an ancient Volkswagon commercial. And here, a bonus quote because it didn't fit but I lurve it: “Bravery has no place where it can avail nothing.” Samuel Johnson (English Poet, Critic and Writer. 1709-1784)


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